


A Lovely Day

by falseungodlyhours



Category: Outer Banks (TV)
Genre: 10ish chapters of the kind of chaos only jj and kie can dream up, Alternate Universe, Angst, F/M, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Mentions of Death, Slow Burn, background john b x sarah, crack fic?, most likely, pure self indulgence i'm so sorry, slight Siara, tiny mentions of suicide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:01:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26989444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/falseungodlyhours/pseuds/falseungodlyhours
Summary: Kiara meets JJ at a wedding and ends up stuck in a time loop with him where they have to live the same day over and over again.(aka the Jiara Palm Springs AU no one has ever asked for)
Relationships: JJ & Kiara (Outer Banks), JJ/Kiara (Outer Banks), Sarah Cameron & Kiara
Comments: 28
Kudos: 55
Collections: Jiara Ocean Kiss Soulmate Endgame Excellence (aka a jiara-centric fic collection)





	1. Saturday, August 1st

**Author's Note:**

> probably the most chaotic idea for a fic i've ever had
> 
> You do NOT have to have seen Palm Springs to read, it’s been set up to where you can go into it totally blind
> 
> But
> 
> There will be a few little easter eggs/references to the movie throughout this for those who have seen it :)
> 
> Title is from Lovely Day by Bill Withers
> 
> Thank you to the lovely Lara (@RoseofWinterfell) for looking over this and constantly spreading good vibes in the gc <3

Kiara’s never really thought of herself as a cynic. 

When she was five, she spent a weekend trying to convince her parents to drive her to Sea World so they could break all of the animals out. When she was fourteen, she ditched school to save baby sea turtles with someone she had zero reason to trust. When she was sixteen, she signed with the Wildlife Conservation Society and refused to let it go. 

When she was eighteen, she left the Outer Banks and never looked back. 

Something about growing up in the Carrera household can wear a person down. Maybe it’s the obsession with the country club. Maybe it’s the pointed gazes and paper-cut comments. Maybe it’s just those fucking antique paintings that seem to stare Kiara down every time she walks down the hallway. _Jesus Christ, Girl with a Pearl Earring. She’s doing her best._

One night, when things were really bad, they’d gotten into it over something stupid. She’d missed curfew by an hour and suddenly the entire house was up in flames. Her mother had been standing in the kitchen, mouth in a line so thin she could hardly see it, and her father had been on the couch, looking surprisingly intimidating in his whale slippers. Kiara had been standing in the doorway, hands on her hips. 

“I’m an adult! I don’t have to fucking be here anymore!” She hadn’t meant it. The whole conversation had been idiotic. Born out of two months of exhaustion because it had been Touron season and the Wreck was turning into a fucking boardinghouse (she could hardly hold her arms out in front of her), and, if she’s honest about it, years of pent-up frustration about a million tiny things. 

But she’d stuck to it, because she sticks to everything. Booked a flight to Portugal after closing her eyes and spinning the antique globe sitting on her desk, thinking maybe memories in far off places might make her feel whole. (They don’t). 

She loves astrology, but she tells the hookup in Sydney about the meaning behind the crescent moon when they’re lying naked on a beach because he looks like he’s about to get up and bail. And maybe Kiara is a little too lonely to watch him do that. 

She believes in giving the earth one-hundred percent and she would be going to the rallies regardless, but she shows up at a climate change march in Amsterdam at the crack of dawn because she hadn’t been able to sleep alone in the empty hostel.

She does think the idea of marriage is claustrophobic, but she keeps focusing on it _tonight_ because if she lets up, what happens then? 

She gets the irony, she _really_ does.

She’d just come out of Hallerbos Forest when she got the call. 

“Kiara Carrera. I know you’re probably doing some amazing shit right now, but it wouldn’t hurt you to pick up the phone every once in a while.”

“Hallerbos, remember? No cell service.” 

Sarah sighs over the line. “I’m gonna let that one slide because I’m in a really good mood. Oh, and I have _news_.” 

“Fire away.” 

“You know how I’ve always wanted to be a sugar mama, but like only if I can make it a permanent thing?” 

“Sure.” 

There’s a pause. Kie chews her lip. Then, Sarah continues, “Guess who finally tied a man down?”

It’s her turn to sigh. “If this is about you taking things a little too far with one of the country club boys again, the answer’s no. I’m not bailing you out. I’m like thousands of miles away.” 

“ _No_ ,” Sarah groans. “I’m engaged, bitch!” 

After a string of shouts and screams that are only a little artificial, because Kiara really is happy for her, Sarah asks the question. 

“What are you doing in six months?”

And she had sounded hopeful, earnest, and Kiara had found herself already saying she’d be there before she could even consider it. 

And fuck, being back in the Outer Banks now, at a wedding of all places, feels like she’s come running back with her tail between her legs. But she figures one of them had better actually be there for the other at some point in this friendship. It might as well be her.

It’s a big event, bigger than anything she’s ever been to before, and that includes all of the cheeky fundraisers her parents dragged her to as a child. They’re under a pavilion near an inn on the coast of the Mainland. There’s fairy lights on the ceiling and seashell arrangements on every table and love in the air, apparently. 

She’s sitting at the rustic bar in a lavender dress that’s itchy as hell, and she’s really trying not to be a bitch about this but _wow_ , that is a lot of tulle, Sarah. She contemplates jumping off the edge of the dock and letting any rogue sharks in the area put her out of her misery. Instead, she slides her glass across the counter towards the bartender, who raises her eyebrows in response. 

“Cynthia,” Kiara says, because they’ve already had this conversation at the rehearsal dinner. “This is not the fucking night.” 

Cynthia sighs, refills the glass, and slides it back. She swipes it up quickly, downs the whole thing in one gulp. She doesn’t even like champagne that much.

Her parents are sitting at a round table near the Camerons, casting nervous glances in her direction every five seconds, but they know better than to get into it with her here. Sarah’s sitting next to John B at a table at the front of the room, and yeah, white has always been her color. Her new husband leans towards her, whispers something in her ear that makes her laugh. Kiara and Sarah used to talk about running away together. Starting a marine conservation program and blowing their trust funds on charity donations and research and travelling the world _together_. Life is funny sometimes. 

It’s time for the speeches, as if this evening couldn’t get any more grating.

Rose and Ward Cameron are at the mic first, finishing each other’s sentences and spewing flowery bullshit that Kie thinks is supposed to be sweet but just comes off pointed. John B Routledge is a Pogue, born and raised on the Cut, and apparently she’s the only one that hadn’t batted an eye. Had actually kind of dug it. Figured it was Sarah’s way of telling Figure 8 to fuck off. 

Sarah's brother, Rafe, goes and it's easily the most uncomfortable two minutes of Kiara's life. Their sister Wheezie's next, and fine, she’d be lying if she said she didn't feel her eyes get a _little_ wet. Fuck, this champagne’s doing a number on her. 

Pope Heyward, one of the co-best men she’d made small talk with at check-in, goes up. He opens by rattling off a divorce statistic, and Kiara coughs. Maybe things are about to get interesting. 

Then the bastard’s choking over his words, making tears form in John B and Sarah's eyes, and yeah, Kie's pretty much done with today.

Until Pope’s eyes settle on _her_ , and he’s smiling, gesturing for her to come up. 

_Shit. Shit shit shit._ They want her to give a speech? She was Sarah’s best friend, even if they hadn’t seen each other in a while. 

All of Figure 8’s staring at her. Kiara shifts on her stool awkwardly, takes another sip of champagne, is about to have to just grow a pair and go up there, when --

The mic hisses as someone takes it off its stand. The other best man, a guy with messy blonde hair and a tux that doesn’t fit right, holds it loosely in his hand, stepping away from Pope despite his feeble protests. 

The lights in the pavilion highlight him distinctly, the way his hair sticks out impossibly in a million fucking directions, how white his teeth are, how clearly he’s not her type. But she gets why the bridesmaids sitting at the round table closest to him are sitting up straighter now. He has something about him, something that’s casual and easy and makes you want to impress him. She can’t think of his name, recalls Sarah mentioning him at some point. Jack? Jay?

The guy just stands there for a moment, lazy smirk on his face, looking at the room. Then--

“We are all born lost. Pieces of dust...floating around this universe in an endless cycle. Then, we are found. But really, we’re all just lost, amirite?” He pauses for a moment like he actually wants them to respond. “But then! Out of the darkness comes a light…”

Holy shit, he’s worse than Pope. Kiara settles in for the show. He waves his hands loosely and smiles too easily and if he keeps talking like he’s narrating a space documentary, she’s not gonna be able to hold it together. 

He’s dragging on about emotional intimacy or _The Big Bang Theory_ or some shit now. “....and you,” He says, and for some reason, the dude’s looking at her now, and this has got to be a joke, right?

“Here you are, standing on the precipice of something so much bigger than anyone here. And it may be frightening--filled with doubt--but always remember: you are not alone. Everyone here is your family, your world, and we will cheer you on with delight in our eyes, as you achieve your wildest dreams, so raise a glass--we may be born lost, but now you are found,” He looks at the happy couple again, grinning. “Cheers.”

Kiara opens her mouth. Closes it again. 

“Let’s dance!” He says, and everyone starts clapping slowly, glancing at each other. 

Kooks dance like they do everything--frigid and self aware. Honestly, watching is more fun than participating. 

“You never realize how special all this stuff is until you’re here,” Wheezie says, passing by the bar. “I want something like this one day.” 

Heteronormative bullshit is what it is. You invite everyone you know to this ridiculously expensive event where everyone watches you walk down the aisle like a prized pig. The music swells dramatically as you bind yourself to the exact same dynamic as millions before you and probably after you. Give her a fucking break. 

Her eyes shift across the floor -- at Rafe nodding his head stiffly with the other groomsmen, at Sarah’s Aunt Sharon attempting to throw it back, at her parents, who apparently only know three moves, all of which are clearly designed to embarrass the shit out of her. She’s about to bail when she sees a head of blonde hair moving through the crowd. The dude who had saved her ass from a very awkward and artificial show of affection towards this whole event is headed her way. 

Too drunk to have any shame, she studies him as he walks over. He seems familiar and foreign all at once, and wow, that is quite the fucking tie. Pink and floral, twisted half-hazardly into what she thinks is a poor attempt at a bow, the--

“Goddamn, that is a lot of tulle,” He comes to stand beside her, leaning against the bar. Gazes out at the crowd of strained dancers. 

She looks at the guy sideways for a moment. “Yeah.” Then, something clicks. “JJ, right?”

“The one and only,” He grins. Then he’s squinting slightly. “...Keira?”

“Kiara.”

“Right, right,” His eyes shift away and she follows his gaze towards Sarah and John B, clutching each other tightly in the center of the floor. “Would ya look at those saps?”

“Sickening,” She agrees. “I guess I owe you a thank you. You know, for the speech.”

“It’s cool. I mean, I’ll take any excuse to show off my John B impression.” 

“Is that what that was?” She smirks.

“I’ll have you know that was spot on. Award-winning.”

“Well, I’ve only spoken to the guy twice, so I don’t have much to go off of.”

“Lucky bitch. I love him, but man, he can talk some shit.” 

She laughs sharply, looks at the side of his face. The way his jaw works when he smiles, the creases at the corners of his eyes. He’s striking, she’ll give him that. All golden hues and sharp edges. 

“Like what you see?” He wiggles his eyebrows in a way that shouldn’t be attractive. 

“Nah. You?” She makes a show of tossing her hair over her shoulder, sticking her chest out slightly. 

JJ grins, something dancing in his eyes. She would keep a straight face, she would. Kie tries to glance away, eyes focusing on the dance floor, but he seems to catch how her gaze accidentally flicks to the curve of his neck. She can feel him looking at her now, knowingly. Determined, she keeps her eyes trained on Sarah and John B.

“I’m kinda over this,” JJ says, leaning back further. “And it seems like you are too.”

“What’s there to be over? The bouquet toss is coming up.”

She can feel him chuckle beside her. Then, “Wanna get out of here?” 

Kie dares a glance back at him, and umm, was he always standing this close?

She can see all of the blue in his eyes and the dent in the bridge of his nose and the tiny scar under his right eye and okay, yeah, she can admit it. He’s charming, and he’s interesting, and he’s almost as cynical as she is. That’s good enough for her. 

“Why the hell not?”

Kiara doesn’t know where they’re going, and JJ doesn’t seem to either. They slip away from the party so seamlessly she’s almost insulted, staggering down the path towards the beach. He’s humming an off-kilter, nonsensical tune into the night air and the expensive bottle he swiped from the bar is swinging loosely at his side. A breeze comes through and she’s wishing she hadn’t decided to go strapless.

They end up sitting on a stretch of sand near the water, grains mixing in with their formal wear. The bottle’s perched between them, where JJ’s built a wall of sand around it. She looks out at the waves rolling in front of them. Listens to the sound of them crashing against the shore. She’s always thought it was therapeutic. Maybe that’s why when he asks, “So what’s your deal?”, she decides to humor him.

“Wow, guess we’re going straight in the deep end,” She chuckles. “Fine. I’ll bite. I haven’t been back here in five years, and uh, it’s a lot.”

“Yeah, Sarah mentioned something about travelling,” He says. “I dipped around three years ago. Got a place in Wanchese.”

She smirks. “Wow, really dodged that bullet.”

“Yeah, I can still see Bodie Lighthouse from my window,” He shakes his head. “It’s a fucking nightmare. Why haven’t you been back?”

“My parents,” She says, because wow, apparently she’s feeling really honest. “They’ve always been embarrassed of me. They think I’m a liability who fucks around and drinks too much.”

His brow furrows. “Why would they think that?”

“Because I fuck around and drink too much,” She smiles. “Which they make sure to tell me, everytime we talk. And they uh, they try to take care of me. Tell me what I should be doing. It’s completely suffocating.” 

“Yeah, I’ve never been big on unsolicited help.”

“Exactly,” She says. “I can fend for myself.”

“Of course you can,” He nudges her, his bicep brushing her side. 

“What about you?” She asks. “Why haven’t you been back to _‘Paradise on Earth’_?”

But JJ’s not smiling anymore. He’s leaned in closer, eyes drifting down towards her lips and then up again. And she’s wondering how many bridesmaids he’s tried this with before her. 

Damn, though. His eyes are really, really blue. 

When it doesn’t seem like he’s gonna make the dive, Kie decides to. Leans over, tilts her head to the side, eyes fluttering shut--

And then JJ’s tensing, pulling back abruptly, and Kiara had always thought she was good at reading signs, but _ouch_. Apparently not. 

She can literally feel the last shreds of her dignity slipping away. Fuck, how was she gonna play this off?

She clears her throat, practically has to force herself to look at him, but his eyes aren’t on her. He’s staring over the top of her head, eyes widening. Then he scrambles to his feet abruptly, kicking sand up. 

Kiara whips her head around to see what the hell he’s looking at, why he looks so spooked. 

If someone had told her, she wouldn’t have believed it. But there it is. 

There’s a guy in a red polo shirt and khakis running down the beach towards them, holding a golf club in one hand. He doesn’t look like he’s here for the party. 

“Shit,” Is all JJ has to say, backing up. “Shit. Okay. Well, bye Kie -- _Kiara_.”

And then he’s running, leaping across the sand and racing away, the country clubber chasing after him, and her life has become a fucking movie. 

She can’t even seem to form the words, just watches as the guy runs past her, chasing JJ towards the hiking trails.

After a moment, something super helpful and articulate comes to her. 

“ _WHAT THE FUCK_?!” 

Kie staggers to her feet, legs shaking. Oh my god. Ohmygodohmygodohmygod. 

She has a few options here. She can head back to the party, get help--but who knows where they’ve gone, if she’d even get back in time. She can call the police -- also doesn’t know how efficient that will be -- thanks Sarah, for picking the most secluded venue in existence. Or she can go after him. Make sure he’s not alone, at least. That he doesn’t go out by a fucking golf club.

Naturally, Kie makes the stupid decision. Starts down the beach towards where JJ had run off pensively.

The only sound she can hear is her chest rising and falling, trying to catch her breath even though she hadn’t been the one running. It’s almost pitch-black out here, hard to see five feet in front of her, and Kie debates switching on the flashlight on her phone for a moment, then decides against it. She starts down the hill towards trails, wobbling in the heels her mother had insisted on. 

There’s something Kiara’s forgetting here, some warning amongst the millions of little remnants of Anna Carrera’s nagging voice that rings in her ear -- something about being on your own and dark nights and men. 

_“JJ?”_ She whispers into the darkness, because she’s stupid, so stupid, and the alcohol is still in her system. There’s only silence -- she doesn’t know what she’s expecting, really. There’s an overhang that leads into a cave of sorts on the left side of the path. Kie looks at the entrance for a moment, considering. Then, decides to start towards it. You never fucking know. 

She can hear a muffled grunt as she steps through the opening, hands instinctively going to the rough wall to stable herself. 

_“JJ?! Is that you?!”_

Her eyes adjust to the strange light coming from the back of the cavern. A kaleidoscope of colors, reds and blues and greens, and maybe she should lay off the champagne from now on.

“Don’t come in here!”

Kie flinches. Her eyes shift to the source of the noise. She can barely make out the boy on the rocky floor, army-crawling his way towards the lights.

“JJ, what the fuck?” She steps forward. “Are you okay? What happened?!” 

He pauses, glances back in her direction. “Don’t come in, Kiara! Seriously!” He moves towards the lights again. 

Yeah, right. She starts towards him, only for the source of the lights to fully come into her view, and for her to realize what it is. There’s a large, round structure in the back of the cave. Something that definitely doesn’t belong there -- a plastic, red base, the sound of bubbling water, strobe lights flickering in irritating patterns. Kie stops short. _Who keeps a fucking hot tub in a cave?_

JJ’s grunting, pulling himself over the side of it now. Collapsing inside, disappearing from view.

Kie rushes forward, almost tripping in her heels and face-planting onto the rocky floor. 

She’s walking towards it all, the colors in front of her, and she suddenly feels dizzy. Lost. The lights flicker on and off, on and off, on--

Kie blinks. 

She’s not in the cave anymore.

She’s in her room at the inn, squinting in the sunlight coming in from the window, bedsheets tangled around her legs. She’s wearing the _Good Vibes_ shirt and drawstring shorts she’d worn to bed the night before. She feels strange. Light. 

Everything’s blurry. Well, everything after the ceremony. Everything after JJ. She remembers golden auras and crashing waves and flashing lights. Somehow, she’d ended up back here. Had he had something to do with that?

She’d downed half the bar. She can only remember bits and pieces from the last twelve hours. So where’s her hangover?

Kiara rubs her face, reaches for her phone -- which is plugged into her charger, on her nightstand.

 _Saturday, August 1st._ She blinks. Stares at it for several moments. Saturday. It should be Sunday. Saturday? No. No, that can’t be right. 

She stumbles out of the bed, tugs at the curtain. She’s on the second floor, can see the parking lot to her left and the pavilion towards her right and the path that leads out to the beach. Her eyes bug out as she watches Ward and Rafe carry strings of fairy lights down the steps. Rafe drops one, and Ward’s looking at him like he’s humanity’s greatest failure. No. No, no, no.

For a fucked-up moment she wonders if she dreamed the entire thing. If she’s imagined the speeches, the bubbling drinks. The dark waves rolling in front of her. It was so fucking vivid. Fuck.

She slips on a cheap pair of flip flops she had picked up at the inn store after Sarah had commented that she wouldn’t be caught dead in them. Walks out of her room and down the hallway in a trance, barely nodding at a couple in damp wetsuits as they brush past her. Gets to the end of the hall and the staircase, has to grip the railing to steady herself. 

Her parents are in the lobby of the inn, sitting in oversized chairs with steaming cups of coffee. They smile at her as she makes her way downstairs, then her mother frowns slightly. “Kiara, dear. Don’t you think you should change?”

She doesn’t have the present state of mind to defend herself. Just makes her way towards them, sinks into a chair beside her father. 

Mike Carrera’s wearing a robe and clearly didn’t get called out for it. His eyes flicker for a moment, looking over her face. “Are you alright, sweetie?

Kiara looks at her dad. “This...this is really happening, right?” 

He frowns, glancing at Anna. 

Her mother purses her lips at her thoughtfully. “Honey, I know it’s hard to see friends move on. Settle down. But Sarah’s making a good decision for herself. For her future.” It’s said in a sugar-coated voice, and it’s so familiar Kie almost feels some kind of relief.

She can still see the flashing lights, still feel the rugged wall under her fingertips. She looks back to her dad. “This...today’s Saturday? Today’s... _today_ is the wedding.” 

He’s nodding slowly, as if he’s talking to a deer he’s afraid of scaring off. “Yes, Kie. Today is the wedding. Are you feeling okay?”

She laughs at that, a little too loudly, because her parents share another look. “This...this shouldn’t be happening. This doesn’t make sense. Fuck.”

They’re staring at her like she’s lost her mind, and maybe she fucking has. This is getting her nowhere. Kie stands, heads for the door, flip flops squeaking against the tile and her parents calling after her. 

She steps out into the sunlight and is met with an onslaught to her senses -- everything is too bright and loud and quick. A few hotel employees rush past her, one of them’s muttering something about ice sculptures and the end times. A couple is bickering loudly in the parking lot, surfboards abandoned on the concrete. Seagulls screech against the sky. The waves are loud today, crashing and rolling, and she remembers thinking it would be fucking awesome to surf if she had time and she remembers walking down that exact wooden walkway, down that exact path towards the beach with a certain best man and all of this has already happened, she’s sure of it. 

That’s when her eyes settle on him -- some form of clarity, maybe. The asshole is sprawled out like a starfish on a yellow floatie, black sunglasses covering his eyes. He bobs on top of the calmer waves near the shallow end, leaning his head back to let the water cool his hair. 

Kiara marches through the parking lot, down the walkway and the sandy path, almost stepping on a guy lying on a towel -- _“Shit, watch it!”_ \-- until she’s standing a few feet from him. “Hey!”

JJ doesn’t even flinch, pulls his head back out and shakes his hair out, sending droplets flying. She’s not sure he’s heard her. 

“Hey dipshit!”

He barely tilts his head up, lowers his sunglasses slightly and squints at her. By then, she’s lost all patience for the situation. She kicks her flip flops off, sending them flying wildly in opposite directions. Stalks into the water towards him. JJ starts to paddle backwards, arms flapping like a duck, jerking around. When she gets waist-deep, he abandons the floatie entirely, or rather, it abandons him. He comes up again a moment later with a sharp gasp, and she has a feeling it’s not just from being dunked under. 

She’s close enough now. “What the fuck did you do to me?!”

He puts his hands up. “Whoa, whoa --”

“What is going on?! Seriously, what the hell is happening?!”

“I--”

“Kiara?!”

Kie flinches, turns at the sound of her name.

And there’s Sarah Cameron, standing a few feet behind her. Clad in a pink sports bra and shorts because even on the day of her wedding, she can’t skip her morning jog. She’s staring at Kie like she’s grown three heads.

Sarah wades in until she’s thigh-deep, frowning. “What the hell's going on? Is everything okay? JJ," She looks at the best man. "What did you do?"

“Nothing,” Kie says, as JJ drawls, “No problems here, ma’am.”

"Kie, is he bothering you?" She raises her eyebrows at him knowingly, takes a step forward. "Seriously, I can talk to John B and -- SHIT! SHIT! Oh my god!" Sarah jumps three feet in the air, jerking backwards. She's wincing, rattling off more profanities than she's ever said in her entire life, hobbling towards the shore. "JELLYFISH! JELLYFISH!"

And that’s how they end up sitting in the lobby of the inn, circled around the bride like they’re at her memorial.

Kie’s been to this beach before, her parents used to take her up to this exact inn when she was little. She’d sit in the sand for hours, making tiny houses for all the little critters roaming the shore. She’d never come across a jellyfish, not once. Leave it to Sarah fucking Cameron to find the only one.

She's got her foot propped up on a couple of throw pillows as she lies on the couch, her head against the armrest. She’s leaning back, eyes closed. Stays like that for a few moments while the Camerons fuss around her and the rest of them watch her solemnly. Then, her eyes snap open again. 

“Babe,” She says to John B, who’s crouched on the ground at her side, clutching her right hand between his. “I think I can see a light.”

“Well shit,” The groom laughs. “Maybe don’t go towards it.” 

And Kiara’s no matchmaker, but okay, maybe she’s starting to get it. 

Sarah sighs. “It’s a good thing you’re cute. And, like, my dress is really flattering. Shit, it’s starting to throb.”

"Sarah--language," Rose says, standing by the window in a pink onesie. She swirls a mimosa in her hand nervously. 

Kiara's a few feet away with JJ and the other best man, Pope, by the check-in counter. Pope has his arms crossed in front of him, looking over at Sarah. "Damn, that looks bad."

"Mm," JJ says, looking entirely too comfortable with all of this. With a lot of things, actually. Kiara studies him for a moment. His eyes flick towards her briefly, and she looks at Sarah again.

"I'll do it,” John B is saying, and Kie cocks an eyebrow. 

"Baby, no."

"I'll pee on you, Sarah, I will. It's the only way."

JJ's shoulders shake slightly. Pope whispers, “Should we tell him that’s a myth or…”

Kiara is too disjointed to laugh, just watches the scene with a weird soberness she hasn’t had in years as the two best men struggle to keep their faces solemn. 

Then John B’s jumping up quickly, like he’s a knight who’s been given a quest. He crosses the room towards them, and Pope and JJ promptly straighten up. 

He looks at JJ first. “Hey, man. Do you have any...you know…?”

JJ places a hand on his chest, clutches at his shark tooth necklace like it’s a string of pearls. “Not here! What do you take me for?”

Pope and John B both give him pointed looks. Even Kie narrows her eyes slightly. 

He sighs. “It’s in my room.”

John B grins, pats him on the shoulder. “Good man.” 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m a saint,” He says, eyes flicking towards her briefly. “Kiara. Why don’t you come help me look?”

Pope frowns, and Kiara has the sense to play dumb, even if JJ doesn’t. “Sure, why not? Seems like a two person job.”

JJ’s room is also on the second floor, in the opposite hall from hers. It takes him three tries to get the door open -- _“stupid fucking key cards, flimsy as shit”_ \-- and then he’s shoving through and she’s following him in.

They’ve all only had their rooms for half a weekend, and somehow, his is already a dumpster fire. It smells like cigarettes, and something else she’s not sure she wants to decipher, and the air is warm, sunlight peeking in from the window. The bed takes up most of the space, and the musty carpet beyond that is barely visible beneath the piles of clothes strewn about and the open suitcase and the other random shit. There’s a pile of bandanas on the bed, as if he’d panicked and not known how many he’d need, which one would ensure he came across the douchiest. There are a couple of lottery tickets on the nightstand, ripped in half. There’s a surfboard propped against the far wall, that looks like it’s well past its prime, weathered and worn and wizened. Kie leans against the door, regarding it all with morbid fascination. 

JJ doesn’t look for the weed, just plops down onto his bed, lying on his back. Gazes up at her, hands behind his head. “So. You followed me in.” 

Finally. Jesus Christ. “Please tell me what the fuck is going on.” She crosses her arms in front of her. “I mean, I’ve already done this. Woken up here and gone to the pavilion and had the wedding. We already did all of this.”

“Trippy, right?” 

“JJ.”

He has a look in his eyes she can’t decipher. “I told you not to come in.” 

“What is this? What is happening?”

He rubs at his face. “It’s one of those, ah...fuck, what do you call it? Infinite time loop thingies?” 

She just stares at him. 

He sighs, pulls a joint out from under his pillow. Lights up. Then, he looks at her again. “Okay, how about this? Today is today. But today is also yesterday. And tomorrow is....today,” He waves the joint around as he talks. 

Kie laughs, loud and shaky. When he doesn’t join in, her eyes widen. “Oh shit, you’re serious?” 

He shrugs. Offers her the joint. She doesn’t take it. Just stands there, looking at him. 

She snorts. “So what are we talking here? Like a _Happy Death Day_ kind of thing, or...”

He’s gaping at her like she’s just mortally wounded him. “Happy De--what the fuck is _Happy Death Day?_ Why is that your first thought?”

Kiara scowls at him, tucks several loose curls behind her ear.

He’s muttering, “I mean, there’s so many movies. Edge of Tomorrow. Repeaters. _Groundhog Day,_ even. _Happy Death Day,_ that’s where we’re at, really…”

“Fuck,” Is all she has to say because her brain’s still trying to catch up, but it’s like all she’s ever known and everything JJ’s just said are running a three-legged race together and none of it’s fucking winning. 

He glances at her again. “You sure you don’t want any of this? You look like you just lost a surfboard.”

She shakes her head. 

“Okay, well, at least tomorrow, all of _that_ won’t be happening,” He waves the joint towards the door, towards Sarah and the others, downstairs. “There’s that.” 

Kie’s still trying to remember something, trying to piece things together. She doesn’t know what the fuck she’s trying to make. “Where’s the loop, then?”

“What?”

She jumps slightly as it comes back to her. “We were in a cave! With the…”

“...the Cat’s Ass?”

“The what?”

“The Cat’s Ass. S’what I named the loop.”

It comes back to her, then. The round structure and the lights and the sound of the jets. “It’s a...why the fuck is it a hot tub?” 

“Look, I don’t pretend to understand this shit,” He shrugs. “For whatever reason, the universe has bestowed upon us a magical hot tub.”

“And you’re just...fine with all this?”

“More than fine. I think there’s a kind of poetry to it.”

Kie rubs at her face, not wanting to dignify that with a response. “Where is it?”

He seems reluctant, leading her out down the path towards the hiking trails again. The trek feels shorter in broad daylight, when she’s not in heels. It’s still morning, and the sun is already beating down on them. 

JJ stands a few feet away from the mouth of the cave. “Here we are. One time loop, here to provide the same shit over and over again. Proceed with no caution, because what the fuck does it matter?” 

She ignores him. “So if I go in there...this whole thing will start over?”

“I mean, yeah,” He says.

She starts towards it.

“You’re wasting your time!”

^^^

When Kiara wakes up, she can feel warm sunlight cresting across her face. Birds are chirping. The sea’s calling. She feels like she slept twelve hours. She yawns. Stretches. 

Then she rolls her over, picks up her phone, because she’s a fucking masochist.

_Saturday, August 1st._

Okay. Hell no.

Kie jumps up, heart pummeling against her chest. Starts shoving all of her crap into the only backpack she brought, cursing herself for being such a fucking minimalist. Hoists the backpack over her shoulder, the zippers protesting, wobbling towards the door like she’s a hermit crab who picked the wrong shell. She takes the side exit, thumping down the stairs and shoving out of the screen door and into the parking lot. 

She gets in her Nissan Xterra and drives and drives and drives. Tries to get as far away as she can. Thinks she’s made it, thinks maybe she’s outrun this weird-ass nightmare. 

When she wakes up again, she flings the musty covers off of her, sending them flying onto the floor of her room. Walks calmly down the hallway, doesn’t even say anything as the couple almost barrels straight into her. Down the stairs and through the lobby, not even sparing a glance in her parent’s direction. Out into the sun and down the walk, her feet hitting the sand, the smile on her face remaining. She goes straight into the ocean, all the way until she’s shoulders-deep, and then she dunks her head under. And she screams. Feels her vocal chords cursing her, feels the water fill her throat, hears the sound come out blurry and gargled. Then she pulls up again, gasping for air in the bright sunlight. She wipes at her face, thinks about going under again, because she still feels like ripping her hair out. 

Instead, she turns back, rubbing at her face again. And, _of course_ , JJ’s standing there, on the beach. His hands are in his pockets, he’s trying to fight the grin that’s clearly tugging at the corners of his mouth, because obviously he has no self control. “You know, there are other ways to get rid of the tension.”

She stares at him.

He looks over her briefly, she can feel the water dripping off of her pajamas and onto the sand. “Where’ve you been?”

“I tried to get on a plane,” She says with a grin she knows is a little too wide. 

JJ raises his eyebrows. “To go...where, exactly?” 

“Literally anywhere else,” She says. “Doesn’t matter.” 

He cocks his head to the side. 

She sighs, throat sore. “I fell asleep on a flight to Greece.”

He chuckles, and his lack of reaction is starting to get really fucking annoying. “That’s how it works. If you fall asleep...bam. Back to the drawing board. One time, I got all the way to Yucatan on a bunch of energy drinks and pills. I was detained by security, because, well, I guess I must’ve been acting fuckin’ weird.” He has his head tilted to the side, a small smile on his face, like he’s recalling a fond, childish memory. 

Kiara looks at him for a moment. “Why don’t we go for a drive, you and I?” 

They’re coasting down a bridge in John B’s ugly-ass van (Apparently, it’s called the Twinkie. She’s not even remotely surprised when JJ informs her he’s the one who named it). Kiara’s hands are gripped tightly around the steering wheel, her mouth pressed into a thin line. JJ has his seat leaned back, his feet up on the dash. She resists the urge to reach out and shove them off. 

He’s tapping a rhythm against the side. “Look, I don’t really know what it is. Could be life. Could be death. It might be a dream. I might be imagining you, or you’re imagining me -- god, wouldn’t that be a mindfuck? Could be Purgatory. Don’t know what you have going on, but I wouldn’t be surprised if I’ve ended up there. Or it could be like a glitch in the simulation we’re in. Who knows. I gave up on trying to figure this shit out a long time ago. We just gotta deal with it, I guess.”

Kie doesn’t even know where to start. Settles on, “So we can’t die?” 

“Nah, I don’t think so. The loop just starts over. There might be some way to kill yourself but I haven’t figured it out, and I’ve tried...a lot of things. So many things.”

Kie’s eyes flick to a white truck a little ways down, on the opposite side of the road. JJ seems to notice, follows her gaze. “You know, sometimes when I say things, they should really be taken with a grain of salt. Or like, no salt at all.” 

“I’m getting out of this,” She decides, gripping the wheel tighter.

He sighs, takes off his seatbelt. “Suit yourself.”

She glances at him quickly. “What are you doing?”

He readjusts his seat. “Bracing for a quick death. I mean, we can’t really die, but pain is very real. Literally nothing worse than dying slowly in the ICU.” 

Kiara purses her lips. Tries to click her own seatbelt off, but the fucking thing’s jammed, she practically has to rip it out. 

JJ leans his head against the glove compartment. “You know, we could just skip this whole part. Go get a beer or something.”

Kie slams her foot on the gas, the ancient van is careening down the road now. 

“Or not,” He exhales. “See you tomorrow, dear.” 

^^^

“You just gotta find peace with it, dude,” JJ says, handing her a Budweiser.

There are a lot of bars on the Mainland, but the spot they’ve ended up in is one of the few hole-in-the-walls. The place is mostly dead, save for a couple in the corner booth. There’s a silver anchor on the wall, a tacky fishing net over one of the windows. Kiara has her elbow on the bar, chin resting on her hand. She’s looking past where JJ is sat beside her, picking absentmindedly at the label on his bottle. 

“I’m telling you, once you embrace the fact that nothing fucking matters, things really start to look up,” He’s been saying shit like this for the past five minutes, and she’s debating whether to tip him off of his stool. 

Then her eyes settle on the corkboard on the far wall, tacks and pictures and flyers covering all of the space. A couple of missing dog posters. Some pictures of who she assumes is the owner, several years younger, holding a variety of fish. A poster advertising for _Professor Hacker’s Lost Treasure Golf_ , on the Banks. _Golf._

She sits up, looks at JJ. “Wait….wait a second. Who the fuck was chasing you?”

He sets the bottle onto the counter, shakes his head. “That’s nothing. Just Topper fucking around.” 

The name sounds vaguely familiar, but then again, every guy who plays golf tends to have a name like that. “He is not your biggest fan.”

JJ chuckles. “That’s my fault.”

“Care to share with the class?” She leans both elbows onto the bar now, raises her eyebrows.

His gaze drags off into the distance grimly. He looks like he’s having a war flashback. Well shit. 

“One night...a very long time ago...I partied with Topper.”


	2. a universe-mandated timeout

**_an uncertain amount of days earlier…_ **

JJ doesn’t like to think about things too much. 

He can admit it: his entire life, he’s ridden the wave. Coasted through anything that had any weight. Fuck, anything that had the _idea_ of weight. He sings ‘Happy Birthday’ off-handedly in the shower and he shows up to his high school graduation in a pair of overalls and when he’s asked once on a job application, _why are you the most qualified person for this position_ , he writes the lyrics to _The Fresh Prince of Bel Air_. Existing is a lot easier when you don’t give a shit. 

Maybe that’s why when he wakes up one day, and finds it’s the exact same day as the last, well...he realizes he isn’t that phased by it. He doesn’t know what that says about him, but fuck, he feels...relieved? 

For once in his life, JJ gets to breathe. And boy, is it a long breath. 

After the four hours and four resets it takes him to come to terms with this, he stands in the sun. He grins. Because holy. Fucking. Shit. He can do whatever he wants, whenever he wants (not that he didn’t before, but this, _this_ is a whole new level). He gets so wasted he can’t stand up too many times to count and he tries every surfing trick he can come up with and he rides around on his cycle at light-speed. He has a lot of orgies. Yeah, JJ’s in paradise.

Whatever miracle-magic bullshit got him into this situation, he’s not gonna question it. Every morning, he presses his fingers to his lips, raises them to the sky. He’s not really sure who he’s thanking, but it doesn’t matter. If there’s a higher power, which he wasn’t really sure there was until all of this, they’ll get the message. 

He imagines the dude---or chick, or whoever, really---lounging in a cloud recliner with a universe-sized remote, chomping on a bag of asteroids, enjoying all of this. Rewinding it again and again and again, because for some reason, they love this part. 

Well, JJ’s happy to oblige (it’s not like he has a choice). If he’s honest, his life _is_ kinda like a Lifetime movie (it used to be the only thing he could find to watch---old shit left on the DVR from when his mother actually lived with them---and he stumbled across _Psycho Stripper_ and was a goner).

It’s a long, winding, fucked-up story. This is the SparkNotes version (he’s always had a special relationship with SparkNotes): 

Six-year old JJ has a hidden talent. He knows exactly when to be at his house and when not to be. He’ll get dropped off by Miss Crain after school and stand in the yard and he’ll just know. Turn around and hang out by the marsh for a few hours until the sun starts to go down. It’s like a sixth sense, and not the cool kind. 

For some reason, his superpower’s defective on Valentine’s Day, 2003.

JJ doesn’t think he’s good at a lot of things, but he’s done a bang up job at arts and crafts today. It’s a yellow sheet of construction paper, folded hamburger style, and on the front of it is a drawing he’d spent an embarrassing amount of time on. Two stick figures truly make up JJ’s family, a tall one with long, squiggly lines for hair and a blue triangle for a dress. A much smaller one, with dots for eyes and a crescent-moon smile. They’re on a thin-line beach, standing near broad, messy, blue curves. The sun has a smiley face---seriously, JJ’s outdone himself. 

Inside is a message that is barely legible, but none of the Maybanks are known for their calligraphy skills, so he thinks it’ll be okay. _Happy Valentime’s Day_. _I love you, squirt._ The ‘squirt’ part’s an inside joke. She called him that so often that he started saying it back to her.

His hands are shaking, and he’s gripping the flimsy paper so tightly he almost tears it. Even at this age, he’s rarely this sappy. He walks up the drive towards the house with a spring in his step he hasn’t had in a while. Gets halfway there when the screen door opens, and Georgia Maybank comes barreling out, blonde curls swinging, a backpack over her shoulder. _Well_ , he remembers thinking. _Perfect timing._

Little JJ freezes, because this is a little too familiar. All of the times his mom had ‘just needed some air’ and stayed away for a day, a week, once even a month, every red flag that should have prepared him for this moment plays on a loop in his head. Still, he fights against it. Acts dumber than he is. 

“Mama.”

Georgia stops short, blinking. “Buddy. Hey.” The makeup around her eyes is smudged. Silver anchors dangle from her ears, flickering against the sunlight. She’s wearing cut-off jeans and her _Kildare County PTO_ shirt. (He hadn’t processed the irony back then, it hadn’t really been his top priority at that moment. Now, he laughs about it). 

“Where are you going?” 

She looks at him for a moment, smiles softly, but it’s a little too miserable for JJ. Starts to move down the drive. Passes him.

“Don’t,” His eyes slam shut for a moment. He doesn’t know what else to say. 

Georgia actually stops this time---nothing short of a miracle. Maybe it’s because they both know she won’t have the chance to stop again. Turns back, a thin line between her brows. 

“Please don’t,” He has his hands pressed to his sides, he can feel the paper crumpling. 

She smiles again and he remembers hating the sight of it. Warm and golden. He squints at her like she’s the sun, completely rattled and altogether fuckin’ furious for a six year old. “Stop being so emotional, baby. You know I’ll be back soon.” Neither of them say anything after that. It’s easier to buy into the bullshit. 

Georgia Maybank leaves her scratched-up turtle keychain on the kitchen counter. The screen door stays ajar. The card sits in the trash for a while until he digs it out in a nervous panic three hours later.

And yeah, from then on, things had been just peachy. He gets a reserved seat in Kildare High’s detention room. Luke starts working on his right hook. Inevitably, JJ discovers the sacred art of day drinking and masters a concept he invented himself: edible dinners. He’s pretty proud of that one. 

He hangs around the eye of the storm a little longer than he probably should. Goes to the Boneyard only to find kids two, three years younger than him kicking back, soaking up the goddamn golden years. That’s only fun the first couple of times. Then Wheezie Cameron calls the cops about a homeless dude who’s face down in the sand and yeah, maybe kickbacks are starting to get old. You’d think he’d want to avoid certain people---Yvonne Heyward with her tooth-rotting concern and Rafe Cameron---also still living at home, wow, he does not love that connection. Luke Maybank---with his warm, fatherly sentiments. But JJ walks around town with his hands in his pockets, smiles too vaguely at Yvonne’s words and doesn’t start shit even when Rafe shoulder checks him twice at the auto shop (he’s a changed man). Practically laughs in his dad’s face when he corners him at Dollar Tree. Starts working at a fast food joint with a shark on the front of the building that is a little too smug and doesn’t bat an eyelid when one of the teenagers drops several fish patties on the floor, picks them up, and dumps them into the fryer. Spends the evening high in the parking lot behind the restaurant, nodding at worn-down locals dragging screaming toddlers and unimpressed teenagers towards the smell of fried fish. 

It’s when John B and Pope come back one spring break sounding like concerned fathers JJ’s never had, drawing back dusty curtains at the Chateau and sniffing sheets and clothes and some brownies he’d taken from work skeptically, that he decides _maybe_ it’s time to get the fuck out.

Gets a place in Wanchese, because his cousin used to live up there and Coquina has some nice fuckin’ waves. Settles into the first floor, one-bedroom apartment with a satisfied smirk. Coasts for years and years. It’s not that hard to do high. 

And then, obviously, there’s the surprise twist of being sucked into a time loop. Whoever’s writing his story was definitely wasted when they came up with that one. But JJ’s not complaining (though he kinda wishes he had gotten stuck in Vegas, not the kookiest event of his life). 

He’s been to this wedding a million fuckin’ times at this point (probably only twenty-three, but who’s counting?). Still, there’s one thing that never gets old. 

Topper Thornton. JJ doesn’t know a lot about Topper Thornton. 

What he does know is that every day, at exactly 7:42pm, he shows up in the inn parking lot in a gray Jeep Wrangler with a bottle of rosé and some white tulips in the backseat. Walks determinedly down the sandy path towards the pavilion (the fucker might as well be holding a boombox at this point), gets about halfway there, and realizes the wedding is already over. Ends up in the inn bar, dragging his feet and scaring off guests.

On the twenty-third day of all of this shit, when JJ’s still lowkey having an existential crisis, he ends up caught in the crossfire.

The bar in the inn is a far cry from the beach shacks that offer cheap beer on the Banks, or even the set-up under the pavilion. It doubles as a breakfast station, and when he had once asked whether he could have vodka in his cereal, Candace, one of the bartenders, had looked at him for a long time. She’d sighed. “As long as you pay for it, I guess.”

It’s almost eight and he’s decided to make himself a mimosa. Leans a coffee mug towards the juice machine, because he can’t be bothered to mess with the few wine glasses under the counter. Does it half and half, watery orange juice and flat champagne swirled together half-heartedly. Candace isn’t on duty tonight, no one is---out of his boredom had come the brilliant idea to bring up a flaming concern about a shortage of crab cakes at the pavilion. For this night, at least, he has the entire bar to himself. 

Almost. He’d forgotten about one minor detail. 

He’s sprinkling cheeto dust onto a bagel when the dude comes trudging in---a blonde, tanned zombie, bright red polo and khakis and all. Topper slumps onto one of the stools so lifelessly he almost slides off of it. Has to grip the counter to steady himself.

“Bartender,” He pouts. “Hit me.”

Fuckin’ kooks. JJ curses himself for his lapse in memory. If he’s honest, though, he doesn’t mind filling this role for a night. It’s kinda a fantasy of his. 

“Gonna have to be a _little_ more specific than that.”

“Your finest...finest brew.” 

There’s a questionable bottle of chocolate vodka in the cabinet. He makes a show of tossing the whip cream can in the air, swirling it over the top. Slides it across the counter almost a little too far, Topper barely catches it before it reaches him. 

“What the hell is this?” He sulks. 

“Pure bliss, my friend.”

Topper looks at it mournfully. Takes a small sip. Pauses. Then downs the entire thing. 

“Whoa there, captain. Thirsty?” 

“You have no idea.”

It’s possible that the vodka is a mistake. Because Topper Thornton is already having a fucked up day, and it turns out, he’s an even more fucked-up drunk. 

“It’s done, dude,” JJ offers during a rare lull in the monologue---a small mercy, really. “She’s moved on. I mean, what are you even doing? Did you really drive all the way from Atlanta?”

“I was gonna ask her to run away with me,” Topper says. “I had the whole thing planned out. Got all dressed up and everything,” He gestures to his polo and khakis, which, JJ can acknowledge, do look like they’ve been freshly ironed. 

“Damn, seven years later?” JJ had to have a little respect for that. Or pity, at the very least. 

“I’m gonna have to rename my boat.” 

“Let me get you a refill.” 

Topper leans his elbows on the bar, rubs at his face. “I just...I don’t know what I did back then. She just broke up with me, out of nowhere.” 

JJ’s going to hate himself for this later, but he sighs, leans against the juice machine. “Doyouwannatalkaboutit?” He asks, relinquishing his fate. 

“I don’t even know what there is to say, man. Love just walked out,” Topper’s staring daggers at a pile of muffins on the counter. “Didn’t even get a goodbye.” 

“That’s uh, that’s rough, bro.” He slides another glass across the counter, he must hate himself. Topper’s lament only gets worse from there. 

_Two glasses..._

“...and I like went to her house one time to try and talk to her about all of it but her sister was there and like….” 

“Do you need a napkin, man?”

_Three…_

“Maybe I didn’t listen enough.” 

JJ shrugs. He’s been trying to juggle a couple of oranges for the past fifteen minutes. Goes to pick up one that’s rolled onto the floor. “Maybe it’s the golf thing.”

“The--- _golf thing?_ ” Topper looks like he’s having a seizure. “What do you mean, the golf thing?! What’s wrong with the golf thing?! _”_

_Four…_

Topper’s picking apart an innocent blueberry muffin, crumbs scattered across the counter, when he admits: “I wrote her a poem.”

An orange smacks against the ceiling. “Wow.” 

“Do...do you wanna hear it?”

“I literally can’t think of a more agonizing fate.”

“ _Before I met you, all I ever had was duffs_ ”--- 

“Fuckin’ hell.”

\---- “ _but you’re a real hole-in-one…_.”

The tenth time he says, “I just feel so stupid,” JJ kind of wants to strangle him, but then, he gets a better idea. “Hey Top---can I call you Top?” 

Topper nods, face solemn. 

“You wanna get _really_ fucked up?”

The weed under JJ’s pillow isn’t gonna cut it tonight. He knows there’s some stronger shit in the front desk of the inn and Anna Carrera has a flask in her purse and there are some questionable plastic baggies in Rafe Cameron’s suit jacket. He settles on the bags, because if the rumors about Cameron are true, they’re in for a fuckin’ treat. Walks straight up to him during the second round of speeches, plucks the bags out of his pocket, even shakes them in the air a little so the entire room can see. Gets a kick out of Figure 8 placing their hands on their chests and gasping audibly and Rose looking like she’s about to faint, as if this is brand new information. Kiara’s at the bar, tugging at the tight fabric of her purple dress, like always. Champagne comes out of her nose when she laughs. 

“What the fuck man?!” Rafe yells from the other side of the locked bathroom door back at the inn, ramming his fist against it loudly. “Top, you fucker. I was kidding earlier. Of course I was gonna share. Just open the fuck up!”

Topper’s inhaled more than he should and JJ’s matched him, just because he can. He doesn’t know when they started giggling but his chest kinda hurts already and he doesn’t think he can stop. They’re sitting on the counter, facing each other, blinking in the fluorescent light. 

“This isn’t funny anymore. Open the fucking door!” They can hear the knob rattling. 

“You’re the shit, man,” Topper chuckles, pointing a shaky finger at him.

For some reason, JJ finds that hilarious. Tilts his head back, laughing. “No, _you’re_ the shit.”

“You’re dead, Topper. You’re fucking dead,” Rafe growls.

That sends them into another fit, chests shaking, clutching their sides. JJ slides off the counter, Topper falls backwards too quickly and hits his head against the wall. Eventually Rafe gives up, heads off to sulk in his room or back to the pavilion or something. Their laughter echoes through the room. 

They throw ridiculously-pricey bottles of champagne against the back wall of the inn. Topper lands one a few feet above them and they must’ve gotten too close because they can feel bubbling liquid and shards of glass spray down on top of them. “Fuck,” JJ says and they throw their arms over their heads, shielding themselves and jerking backwards. 

Topper laughs. “This is the fucking best.”

He can only agree. Throws the last bottle as high as he can. It slams against the wall and bursts into a million fragments, white foam sliding down the brick. 

They end up on the beach, frolicking across the sand, arms waving wildly. JJ can faintly see the light from the pavilion in the distance. He stops short. “Dude, what the fuck happened to the sun?”

Topper waves him off. “She’s having a crusty day, dude. Don’t judge.” 

“Oh. Sorry, sun.”

They nearly face-plant to the sand a few moments later, somewhere in the middle. JJ draws shapes that dissolve when the grains pull back together. Topper has his knees tucked under him, he’s looking at the stars. 

“What a bitch. All she ever did was put me in debt.”

“Huh?” Were JJ’s hands always this big? He holds them up, spreads and wiggles his ringed fingers. Squints. 

“Froyo,” Topper explains. “Fuck her.”

“Fuck everyone! You know who else is a bitch? Life,” JJ chuckles. “I don’t like her.”

“Get in line.”

Topper’s lying on his back now, he’s started making a sand angel. “Oh man. You know what?”

“What dude?” 

“I wish everyday was like this. I wish...I wish I had a million todays.” 

The beach is silent as the words hang in the air for a moment. JJ looks over at him slowly. Rubs at his chin. 

“Oh, word?” 

^^^

Kiara doesn’t know what she was expecting. It definitely wasn’t that. She watches JJ, who’s still looking off into the distance. The bar is quiet, the couple in the corner having gotten up to leave halfway through his tale, coincidentally, right when he’d started talking directly about the time loop. The bartender is cleaning off a glass a few feet from them. His eyes keep darting between them and the door.

“So do you take all of the wedding guests to the beach?” She folds her hands on the counter.

That seems to snap JJ out of his trance. “Only the hot ones.” He winks. Then he pauses. “I should probably stop doing that.” 

“So now he’s pissed.”

“Vengeance is a cruel mistress. But she’s got a soft spot for Top. At this point, I’ve lost track of it all. There’s been stabbing. Lot of stabbing. Sometimes he can’t be bothered and just uses the golf club. There was the lighter fluid bath. There was also that time with the stingrays. That one was pure luck. And who can forget when he shoved me off the top of a lighthouse. The boat propeller thing---that one must’ve taken a lot of effort. Respect.” 

“Shit.”

“And yeah,” He says, clenching his beer bottle. “I promised myself I would never bring anyone into this life again.”

She bites back a vague sperm joke. “Dude, you’ve gotta deal with that.”

“Why would I do that?” JJ looks at her incredulously. “I try to live my life with as little effort as possible.”

“Running from a maniac seems like a lot of effort.”

“It’s not a big deal. He has to drive all the way from Atlanta, so he only shows up every couple of days.” 

“You can’t just let him do that,” Kiara stares at him. “You have to talk to him.” 

“Oh sure, why didn’t I think of that? _Hey Top, I know I fucked everything up for you, but can you go a little lighter on the jumper cables next time?”_

She rolls her eyes. “I’m just saying, it doesn’t have to be like this.”

“It kinda does,” He shrugs. “And I mean, if it were me, I’d be pissed too.”

She clicks her tongue at that. “It’s a good thing I’m a pacifist.” 

“Shit yeah,” JJ says. “You and Topper would probably be making friendship bracelets by now. Can you imagine? I’d never catch a break.” 

“In all seriousness though, that’s fucked up. And this may sound crazy, but maybe, _just_ maybe, you could confront him.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” He drawls and somehow she knows he won’t. He sets his now-empty bottle onto the counter. Spins it a couple of times irritatingly, his rings flickering slightly against the light behind the counter. 

Kiara chews her lip for a moment. Then, more for herself than for him, “We’re getting out of this shithole.”

“That’s an interesting theory,” JJ says, and when she narrows her eyes at him, he adds, “But go on. Let’s hear it.” 

“Okay, so, it’s gotta be something to do with the universe, right?”

“Thanks, Kiara, that really narrows it down.” 

“Shut up. I’m just saying, something this fucking bizarre can’t be an accident.”

“But I thought I was one in a million.”

“It could be a disruption of something. Balance, or justice, or peace. We could have been brought in here to do something.” 

“Like what? Stop littering?”

She sighs. “Just...I don’t know. Do something good. Put out good energy.”

He’s also started tapping a rhythm into the floor. “So we just need to get all...kumbaya and shit?”

“Yeah,” Kie says, starting to smile. “Fuck. I guess this is a good thing. It makes sense.”

“If you say so.” 

Mind racing, she stands up quickly, knocking over her stool. Starts walking out of the bar, gets to the door and turns around. Looks at JJ, who’s still at the counter, spinning the bottle. “You coming?” 

He shakes his head. “Nah, I’m good. I’ll catch you tomorrow. And the next day. And the next day. And---”

“Yeah, yeah,” Kie rolls her eyes, turns to leave. 

^^^

JJ finds Kiara on the beach a few hours later. She’s sitting crossed legged, close to the waves, in a quieter spot. Her brown curls are stacked on top of her head in a messy bun. Her shoulders are hunched, eyes closed. The closer he gets, the more tense she looks. 

Clearly, she’s been busy. Has something set up in front of her---a couple of wax candles lying beside her, something that looks like a massive joint in her hand, burning at the tip. She’s taken some jars he recognizes from the party favors table under the pavilion, they’re filled with water, but abandoned in the sand. 

He comes to stop at her side, hands in his pockets. “Aww, shucks. You didn’t have to pull out the candles for me. A much simpler maneuver would have worked.” 

“Do you have any bay leaves?” She asks, eyes still shut. 

“Damn, I just ran out.” He cocks his head to the side. “What’s all this?”

"This girl I hooked up with in Norway was a witch. She was always burning shit in her apartment. Sage. Bay leaves. Different kinds of incense."

JJ runs a hand through his hair, looking at it all. “So what are you trying to do exactly?”

“She taught me this thing about cleansing your environment. Well, there are a few different ways to do it. The basic idea is you light it up, spread it around, and say some kind of mantra. Something audible, something about your intentions.”

“I mean, I’m open to anything, but I’ve like tried everything at this point.”

“Have you ever tried this?”

“Well, no---”

“Then sit your ass down.” 

He sighs. Shuffles down beside her. Watches as she sits there, eyes closed, as the smoke filters up into the air. 

After a moment, he says, "So how’s your day been? I---"

"Shut up, I’m trying to rid this place of negativity."

They sit for what feels like forever. JJ watches the sea for a while, and then he watches her, and then he starts playing with his rings. 

“Quit fidgeting, you’re fucking with our energy.”

When Kiara decides enough smoke has disappeared into the atmosphere, she looks at him. “Okay. Mantra.” She glances up at the sky. 

“May this place find peace and prosperity,” She says, as he yells, “Get us the fuck out of here!”

They watch the smoke trail up for another eternity. When JJ looks at her, he realizes she’s closed her eyes again. After a while, he thinks she might be asleep. Is about to reach out and poke her, when---

She opens her eyes. “It’s not working. Why the fuck isn’t it working?”

It’s probably better if he keeps his mouth shut on this one.

“I tried to set up something with the candles. The jars---supposed to contain it. I burned the sage, said some really fucking positive shit. Fuck, _that_ should’ve worked. It should’ve---wait. _Wait_ ,” Kiara fists the front of his shirt, and he puts his hands up, preemptively. “Hold on...what if it’s more than that. What if it’s a karma thing?” 

“A karma thing?”

“Like a punishment. Like you and I personally have something to make up for, or deal with.” 

He smirks. “Like what, a universe-mandated timeout?”

“Yeah. Shit. Like _we_ put out enough negative energy that now _we_ gotta make up for it.”

“Okay, I’ll play,” He rubs at his jaw. “If that were true, how would we even do that?”

“Well, what’s the most selfless thing you can do?”

“I don’t know, I’d like to think I’ve been pretty selfless with some Tourons.”

She scowls at him as he chuckles. Then a spark lights behind her eyes. 

They’re under the pavilion later that day and they’re sitting at one of the round tables, watching John B and Sarah’s first dance. The groom’s stepping on the bride’s skirt for the third time in the past five minutes. She grips his shoulders, giggling loudly.

The Carreras are at the next table over. Mike takes a seashell from the arrangement in the center of the table and holds it to his ear, pretends to be talking to someone quietly. Anna coughs to cover her giggle, lips tugging upwards. 

JJ pulls at his crooked tie, watches as Kiara slips out of her seat and makes her way towards her parents. Anna lights up when her daughter approaches, probably assuming she’s ditching the pogue to come sit with them. Then she leans over, whispers something in her mother’s ear. JJ has a front row seat to the smile dropping from Anna’s face, her eyes going comically wide. A thin hand comes to her mouth, she’s looking at her daughter like she’s a ghost. For all he knows, Kiara’s just told her she’s moving to the Cut. 

He scratches the back of his neck. Watches as Kiara makes her way back towards him, a satisfied smirk on her face that doesn’t reach her eyes. Mike’s glancing between his wife and his daughter, whispering to Anna, trying to figure out what’s happened. Anna sits back in her seat, haunted. 

Kiara swipes her hands together dramatically, as if scraping dirt off. “That should just about do it.” 

“What the fuck did you say to her?” JJ can’t hold it in any longer, finally asks as they’re walking into the hole-in-the-wall. The bartender glances over at them warily, as if to say, _not again._ They slide onto their stools, Kiara drums her fingers against the counter. 

Then, she turns to him, grinning. “You know, doing the right thing is just...the best. What a thrill.”

He looks at her for a moment, trying to decipher it. “Sure.” 

“Well, JJ, I’ve gotta say it. This has truly been the highlight of my life. Being sucked into a never-ending riff in the universe through a goddamn hot tub, what more could a girl ask for. But all good things must come to an end,” She sighs for effect. “I only wish the best for you. Hey, no---I mean that. And you know, the violent psychopath too. Deal with that. Could be your way out.” 

“Guess you’ve got it all figured out,” He says. “Congrats.” 

“Thanks dipshit,” She pats his cheek. Then, she pauses. “Hey, before I go. I just wanted to say...in your future loops, _maybe_ stay away from Rafe’s pockets. And I hope you find whatever it is you’re looking for. Do something good. Also, don’t fucking talk to me.” 

The next morning, things feel quieter. JJ shifts under the covers, which sends the pile of bandanas scattering to the floor. Oops. He sits up, looks towards the window, curtains pulled back far enough that he can see the beach. Can hear the sea. He runs a hand through his hair. Sighs. 

Then the door to his room is slamming open and he jumps slightly. 

Kiara comes barreling in, shoulders shaking. “Didn’t work,” She laughs. “Life is meaningless. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

There’s a beach house on the coast a few miles down the road with bright blue wood and a silver crab hanging above the door. JJ pulls the key from under the yellow mat and turns it in the lock, the door creaks open easily. The place is just like he left it yesterday, and the day before---nearly empty, save for the scratched-up dining table and the couple of bright patio chairs that probably belong outside and the navy futon.

Kiara follows him in, flip flops squeaking. Looks around the room. “Who’s place is this?”

“Miss Crain. She used to babysit me as a kid and we ran into each other at Walmart a couple years back. Mentioned some maintenance problems she was having and I offered to take care of them ‘cause I was already going to a few places in the area.” 

“Why’s it so empty?” 

“She doesn’t like clutter.”

“I can respect that.” Kiara’s looking at the only succulent on the kitchen counter. “Where is she now?” 

JJ shrugs. “Probably in the Banks or something, visiting her mother. She won’t be back today, that’s for sure.” 

They get high, because that’s the best way to face the prospect of eternity.

They’re sitting on the cold wood floor, passing the joint between them like they’ve been friends for years. After it’s gone back and forth a few times, Kiara asks, “So what were you doing before all this?”

“What was I doing?”

“Like job-wise.”

He raises his eyebrows. 

She rolls her eyes, lies down on her back. “I’m already bored, man. Just talk about something.” 

“I’ve done a lot of different stuff. Auto repair. Deliveries. I worked in fast food for a while. Six months at a pawn shop. Five at a surf shop. There’s probably more, it’s been a long time. And my memory’s pretty shot.” 

“Sounds fun.”

“Traumatic, actually,” He sighs. “What do you...what _did_ you do?”

“Professional free-spirit.”

“Badass.”

“Pathetic, actually,” Kiara smiles wryly. 

“I don’t know, dude, total freedom? No inhibitions? Sounds pretty fuckin’ good.”

She shrugs at that. Looks towards the glass door that leads to the patio. “Guess you and I were made for this then.”

“Guess so,” his jaw twitches. “I mean, at least it doesn’t matter when we fuck up in here.” 

“Mm,” She agrees. Then, “Maybe this won’t be so bad.” 

He grins. “You see?”

“I said maybe.”

Later, when they’ve gone through another joint and they’re lying on their backs, when things have been quiet for a while and JJ feels like he’s sinking through the floor, he asks, “What now?”

Kiara doesn’t respond immediately. Shifts against the wood. “Whatever, I guess. Let’s waste some time.”

He stares at the weird shapes on the ceiling---probably water damage. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah. What’ve you got?”

He doesn’t even have to think about it. Sits up and looks at her, she’s playing with one of the threads of her top. 

“Do you surf?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand we're off to the races! From here on out, things can only get more absurd...  
> I have to recommend the Palm Springs soundtrack---it's truly a work of art and has definitely inspired a few scenes in this (we'll get there lol)  
> I don't have a clear schedule for updates, but hopefully I can do at least two a month. The gc is talking about participating in NaNoWriMo this year, so hopefully that will help me crank out some content :)  
> Lastly, if you've made it this far through the insanity, thank you so so much for reading <3 <3 <3


End file.
